


Defining Ink

by kassanova



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), F/F, F/M, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Klance Week, M/M, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Sassy Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), klance, lance - Freeform, lance mcclain - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassanova/pseuds/kassanova
Summary: In this world, a seventeenth birthday is much, much more than just another birthday.It’s an inkling to the rest of your life.The moment that a human being turns seventeen years old, a separate, unique mark appears on each one of their wrists. One of these marks is shared with their soulmate, and the other mark is shared with their very worst enemy. Alternatively, their soulmate—or enemy—will have the same exact mark on one of their wrists. These marks are known as “fate marks,” and their intention is to indirectly help guide their owner towards their main goal in life: find their soulmate.There are only two humans on the Earth that share the same fate marks.But, there’s a catch.It’s relatively impossible to know which mark represents their soulmate, or which mark represents their worst enemy.In this world, it’s pretty much everyone’s directive to figure out which mark represents which.That is, everyone except for Keith Akira Kogane.Luckily, he doesn’t really have to ponder much over that.Both of the marks on his wrists are exactly the same.





	Defining Ink

**Author's Note:**

> hey, guys!!
> 
> the idea for this fic came from a writing prompt that i found on tumblr. credit for the prompt goes to @writing-prompts.
> 
> not to be obvious, but--!spoiler alert!--this is a slow-burn klance fic. apologies in advance for any anguish that this fic may cause, lmfao.
> 
> this is still a work in progress, and one of those "i'll-post-as-i-write"-type fanfics. i currently have the first few chapters written, but this fic still has a long way to go! i am trying to write this fic as accurate to the show as possible while still keeping the storyline going, and as this is being released four days before season six of vld drops, i am unable to write the entire fic from beginning to end since the show is not yet completed.
> 
> i will try my best to update this fic regularly. i hope you guys like it!  
> if any of you want me to continue writing it, just drop a comment below. i won't finish it if it isn't worth it, lol. 
> 
> catch you guys later!!  
> \--k

                Keith couldn’t sleep that well on the night prior to his seventeenth birthday.

                                There were way, _way_ too many thoughts cartwheeling through his mind for that.

                The next morning, his fate marks would appear on his wrists, the marks that would represent his soulmate— _and_ his worst enemy. He didn’t really have a particular guess as to who those two people might be, but he was excited, nonetheless.

                When he got his marks, he would finally have a way to find out who his _soulmate_ was.

                                That very thought send a sharp pang of anxious hope stabbing through his gut.

                Keith Kogane had been completely alone in the world since his dad had passed away when he was fourteen—save his mentor, Takashi Shirogane (better known to his fellow peers and the Garrison cadets under him as “Shiro”), who had somewhat taken the Texan teen under his wing after he had enlisted with the Garrison. Since then, Keith had seen Shiro as a type of brother-figure; he was just close enough to go to when Keith had problems, but also just important enough to hide all of his shenanigans from. Keith didn’t really have anyone that he could necessarily call a _friend—_ hell, Keith didn’t even have a roommate—and if that little tidbit didn’t cement just how isolated he was compared to the other Garrison students, then he didn’t know what would.

                                (Of course, the fact that Keith was afraid of being rejected and shunned by his fellow classmates if he _did_ try to interact directly with them didn’t really help his predicament, either.)

                 Needless to say, because of his—well, loneliness—the notion that he might finally be able to figure out who he belonged to, who he was meant to spend the _rest of his life with_ , made his heart flutter with both excited anticipation and nervous anxiety deep within his chest.

                He would have a hint. He would have a _clue._

He wouldn’t _know,_ of course, but he would have a _clue._

                That was more than enough for him for now.

                He wouldn’t admit that out loud, of course.

                                That would be too cheesy.

                                                Keith _hated_ cheesy stuff.

                But now, in this moment, as he sat upright underneath the bounty of pillows and blankets in the rickety wooden bed kindly provided by the Garrison housing committee, the hopeful anxiety that had settled itself in his abdomen melted into complete and utter _dread_.

                He had woken up at ten minutes past four-o’clock in the morning on October 23rd, just like he had been doing every October 23rd since his sixth birthday. The birthday excitement was always too much for him to bear—and his father always made sure to wake him up at the _exact minute_ that he was born (four-o-two a.m., for anyone curious) to tell him happy birthday if Keith wasn’t already awake—so, naturally, it had become somewhat of an unintentional habit, an unofficial tradition buried deep within his brain that he still practiced, even after Dad’s accident. In a way, Keith felt like waking up so early on his birthday also paid some sort of reverent tribute to his dad.

                                (That always made him feel better about the unnaturally-early wake-up time.)

                He had forgotten to open his window the night before in order to let the cool night air drift into his dorm room. His bedsheets were tangled awkwardly around his knees, his comforter slung carelessly around the lower half of his body. The year may had been approaching the end of October, but the Texas heat kept any notion of autumn (or other signs of cool weather) at bay; the soaking-wet fabric of Keith’s tee-shirt clung stubbornly to his chest; the air was hot and sticky and thick with heat. He cursed his forgetfulness for a moment while his brain still struggled to force itself awake. As soon as his brain was no longer clouded with drowsiness, he was definitely gonna get out of bed and open that damn window.

                It was then that a sudden thought exploded into his brain and caused him to bolt upright on his mattress, his brain now wide-awake and on high alert.

                _Your wrists,_ he thought to himself and he struggled to wrench himself free of his sheet’s grip on his legs, _You’re seventeen now. You have your marks!!_

                Keith felt a goofy, toothy grin spread across his face as that realization kicked in. The marks! They were there!!

                He practically dove across his mattress toward the lamp on the nightstand, fumbling excitedly with the light switch. His hands were practically _trembling_ with anticipation.

                The sudden brightness that emanated from his bedside lamp flooded through the tiny dorm room, nearly blinding the poor kid in the process. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain for a moment, but his eyes quickly ripped open again as the dots and circles dancing on his eyelids faded. He _had_ to know what they looked like. He’d been waiting for this moment for years…!

                He held his wrists up to his face.

                                There they were!!

                                                …..

                The grin that had plastered itself across his pale cheeks suddenly began to fade.

                On his left wrist, just underneath the right side of his palm, was a tiny constellation—a marking that Keith noticed to be extremely similar to the constellation, Leo.

                On his right wrist, in the exact same place, was—

                                                —the _exact same marking._

                After a moment, Keith felt his shoulders slump in disappointment. The ball of excitement that gathered in his chest not even two minutes ago suddenly dropped dead in his stomach like an eighty-pound bowling ball.

                He swallowed hard and allowed his hands to fall in his lap in utter disbelief, his palms still facing up at the ceiling, his eyes still locked on the fate marks etched onto the surface of his skin.

                They were… the _same??_

                No. No, that couldn’t be right.

                Keith frantically brought his wrists back up to his face again and studied over each marking carefully. Maybe there were too many dots on the other wrist. Maybe the lines were off-kilter. Maybe one of the stars was a little out of place, or maybe one was missing. Maybe he wasn’t looking at them right way, and they were different somehow.

                                There was no way that both of them could be the exact same, right?!

_Right?!?_

                He counted each dot, one-by-one. He traced over the lines with his fingertips. He double-checked the placements and numbers of each star at the corners of the constellation.

                                _Wrong._

                The fate marks on his wrists were completely identical, completely alike, in the exact shape of the constellation, Leo.

                                They were both the same.

                His hands had begun to tremble so hard that his eyes could no longer focus on the array of dots and lines and stars on his skin. He fell back on his pillow and slammed the palms of his hands against his forehead, trying to ignore the burning sensation that arose in his eyes as he tried to hold back his tears.

                                _What the hell is this supposed to mean…?!_

                He took a deep, shaking breath at this thought as he rubbed his fists hard against his eyelids.

                He knew _exactly_ what that meant. He wasn’t stupid.

                                His worst enemy was his soulmate.

                                                His soulmate was his _worst enemy._

                At least he didn’t have to worry about discovering which symbol meant what.

                He snickered emptily at that, desolation quickly filling the hole in his chest where his heart should have been.

                                … _What a load of shit._

_Why me?_

He glanced at the clock. It read 4:45 a.m.

                The alarm signaling him to get up and get dressed would start blaring at seven-fifteen.

                Maybe his fate marks weren’t done developing yet.

                Maybe something went wrong when they were forming, and they needed time to adjust.

                _Maybe_ , he thought, _maybe if I just go back to sleep for a few more hours, then everything will be okay when I wake back up._

                                Maybe this was all just a hallucination, some kind of bad dream.

                Keith rolled back over, snatched his bedsheets over his head, and tried to force himself back into a slumber.

…………………….

                Keith glared angrily down at the half-empty lunch tray before him.

                It was a quarter past noon now.

                                He couldn’t _believe_ that those stupid marks were still the same.

                His day had started off rough enough with the discovery of his identical fate marks, and it had only just begun to get worse when he missed his morning alarm and ended up being forty-five minutes late to his first class. He was _never_ late to class. _Never!_

                And to top the morning off, it seemed like Lance was being more of an _asshole_ than usual.

                Keith didn’t really mind the rivalry. If anything, it made the classroom more exciting. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else in his class—or really in the entire school—could rival his skills; Lance McClain was the closest thing to a rival that Keith could really have.

                He didn’t mind the rivalry, no. Keith had always been pretty competitive; he _enjoyed_ it.

                                But it was just the utterly appalling level of _assholerly_ that Lance kept himself on that made Keith want to _slam his fist_ into the Cuban’s face.

                Overall, Keith’s morning had started shitty, and his mood didn’t make it any better.

                                He just wanted to be left alone.

                “Hey, Keith!”

                The train of thought chugging through Keith’s mind suddenly derailed as he jumped at the sound of his name. He looked up from his plate just in time to see a figure pull back the chair across from him and place his tray on the table.

                Oh. It was Shiro.

                                At least it was someone that Keith actually didn’t mind talking to.

                The senior officer offered him a smile as he slipped into his chair.

                Keith took a forkful of mac-and-cheese from his already-mostly-empty tray and shoved it in his mouth. “I didn’t know you’d be at the Garrison today,” he grunted, not returning the friendly gesture.

                Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Good to see you, too. I’m training the graduating class for their final simulator today, and since we’re on lunch break and I hadn’t seen you in a while, I figured I would drop by to _check on you_.” He leaned forward on an elbow, nodding at Keith’s crossed arms and overall grumpy demeanor. “And now, I’m glad that I did. Has the day really been _that_ bad?”

                “Well, it hasn’t really been that _good_.”

                “Oh, come on, Keith. It’s your birthday, right?”

                Keith nodded in reply.

                “Then why are you in such a bad mood??”

                “I’m seventeen today.”

                “And that’s bad, because…? Seventeen! You got your marks!”

                “Exactly.”

                A full expression of total puzzlement spread across the Japanese man’s face. “Aren’t you excited?”

                Keith winced. “Well… I _was,_ but….”

                “But?”

                “But nothing.”

                “What happened?”

                “Nothing happened.”

                “You didn’t get your fate marks?”

                “No, no, I got them—”

                “Then why are you sulking?”

                 “I’m _not_ sulking—!”

                Shiro wrinkled his nose and gave the cadet a disapproving look. “Not sulking? Keith, your emo is showing.”

                Keith opened his mouth to angrily protest.

                “Ahp-bup-bup,” Shiro interrupted, wagging a reprimanding finger at the teen, “don’t argue with your superiors. Speaking of which, you kinda need to start watching your backtalk, you know. Your mouth’s gonna get you in trouble if you don’t watch it.”

                “Oh, _kiss my ass,_ ” Keith muttered at him lowly. There was a hint of an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth, despite his response.

                Keith could tell that Shiro was trying to be professional and keep a straight face—but he was failing miserably, a slight chuckle erupting from his throat. “ _Anyway_ ,” he began, “back to those marks…”

                The smile faded from Keith’s face. “I… I really don’t want to talk about it, Shiro, okay?”

                The first clouds of concern shadowed Shiro’s face. “Okay, if you say so. But you do know you can talk to me, right? You can trust me. You don’t always have to bottle things up like that.”

                The Texan paused for a moment, taking in his friend’s worried expression, and then huffed in defeat. “ _Fine._ I’ll tell you. But—but first—what do your fate marks look like? Can I see yours?”

                “Sure. Here…” He offered a little encouraging smile then rolled the sleeves of his uniform up slightly, exposing both of his fate marks. Keith leaned forward curiously, taking in the small markings on his superior’s wrists.

                 On Shiro’s left wrist was a crimson-red mark, shaped kind of like an _x_ , but with long, sharp points in the middle and on each of the bottom sides and a small diamond shape in the middle. Keith thought that design and color definitely looked kind of sinister, in contrast of his pale skin—it was almost like a brand, or a wound of some sort.

                 On his right wrist was a small, pastel-pink marking, almost shaped like a boomerang. To Keith, Shiro almost seemed a little embarrassed to show him. Keith could kind of understand why; Shiro was this tall, bulky Garrison officer who could probably snap a metal pole in half over his knee with ease, and he had this girly pink mark on his wrist. Keith would’ve been a little embarrassed, too.

 _Dammit_ , Keith thought to himself. It was pretty much obvious as to which of his wrist symbols meant what.

                                Keith wished _his_ marks were that simple.

                “See? They aren’t that bad,” Shiro began, tugging the cuffs of his uniform back over his wrists. You’re fine, Keith, I promise.”

                Keith’s heart sank as he leaned back in his chair. He eyed the food on his plate glumly. He no longer had an appetite. “No, I’m not.”

                “Don’t be so dramatic.”

                “I’m _not_ being dramatic…! I just….” Keith scoffed, crossing arms again. “…. You promise you won’t tell? Or laugh at me??”

                “Who would I tell? And why would I laugh at you??”

                “I don’t know. But just… Just promise anyway.”

                Shiro nodded. “Okay, okay. I promise I won’t tell. _And_ that I won’t laugh at you.”

                Keith took a in a deep breath before continuing. He was still so unsure about this. “Shiro, something… Something is screwed up with my marks.”

                He tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrow again. “What makes you say that?’

                “They’re the same.”

                Shiro stopped to gape at the teenage cadet in front of him for a moment, his dark eyes growing wide in astonishment. “They’re… They’re _what_?!”

                Keith bit his lip and dropped his gaze to the table. “Yeah.”

                                He shouldn’t have said anything.

                “But… I thought that was impossible?”

                “ _Yeah_. That’s what I thought, too.”

                “I don’t believe you. There has to be _something_ different about them.”

                “Okay. Here. Fine.” Keith was growing increasingly impatient. His stormy grey-blue eyes darted around the room a moment, searching for any nearby students at their table that might be listening in on them or lingering too long. God knew that he didn’t want anyone to find out.

                                Or, more specifically, he didn’t want _Lance McClain_ to find out.

                Lance was always dogging Keith about his mullet; the _last_ thing that Keith needed was that dumbass making fun of him for something that he _couldn’t control._

                When Keith was satisfied that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, he leaned across the table, meeting Shiro straight in the eye. “You don’t believe me? Let me _show_ you.”

                Keith jerked both of his sleeves up and rolled the wrists of his gloves back, exposing the two tiny constellations on his wrists.

                Shiro grasped both of Keith’s wrists in the palms of his hands suddenly and jerked them closer to his face, inspecting each one of them intensely. Finally, after what felt like hours to Keith, Shiro released his grip on the boy’s wrists, crossed his arms, leaned back on his chair, and narrowed his eyes across the table at him. “How… How can that be??”   

                “I don’t know,” Keith grumbled. “But it’s _bullshit._ ”

                “ _Language,_ Keith. Jesus,” Shiro reprimanded. His right hand came up to his mouth as he eyed the boy’s wrists again. After a few moments, he spoke again. “You do know what that means, right?”

                Keith began to push the sleeves of his Garrison-issued jumper back down, unsettled by his companion’s analytical gaze. “Yeah, yeah. It means that my soulmate is also my worst enemy. I know.”

                Shiro’s mouth twisted into a sympathetic frown, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he contemplated this. “That’s… That’s rough, Keith. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard of anything like this happening before.”

                Keith could practically _feel_ his pity.

                He had begun to feel like some kind of sideshow freak. He felt that if Shiro were to stare at him in sympathy any longer, then he would lose his _mind_.

                “What… What do I do, Shiro? How am I supposed to deal with this??”

                “I don’t know, Keith,” the senior officer sighed finally, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. “I wish I knew what to tell you.”

                _Yeah,_ Keith thought to himself, y _ou and me both, buddy._

                Finally, Keith shook his head, grabbing his tray and his unfinished lunch in his hands. “I… I gotta go to class. Today is review day. Exams are tomorrow.”

                Shiro gave him another worried look, but he let Keith go, nonetheless. Keith was always never one to really talk about his problems with anyone, and Shiro knew that prying into his head any further would just push him farther away. “All right, man. But, hey, I’m here for you, okay?”

                Keith didn’t hear this. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have replied. There was too much on his mind already, and he wasn’t really in the mood for any brotherly advice to go along with it.

                Instead, he mulled over the morning’s devastating outcome in his head as he carelessly tossed his dirty tray onto the conveyor belt.

                                He really, _really_ didn’t want to think about his fate marks any longer, but he still couldn’t help but wonder….

                                                Who on _earth_ did these fate marks belong to…?


End file.
